


Danny Williams, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

by Siria



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fire escape shuddered under Danny's feet, red-brown rust streaking the palms of his tac gloves brighter than fresh blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Danny Williams, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sheafrotherdon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/gifts).



> A very, very belated birthday fic for Sheafrotherdon! Thanks to Amberlynne, Dogeared, and Trinityofone for audiencing, cheerleading and betaing.

The fire escape shuddered under Danny's feet, red-brown rust streaking the palms of his tac gloves brighter than fresh blood. He rounded one corner, and then the next, and with two floors still to go he jumped. The impact was jarring—even prepared for it, rolling into it and coming up running, there was nothing Danny could do to stop the bright explosion of renewed pain in his right knee. It was enough to make him gasp and stumble, but he kept going: the ligament was fucked anyway and there was no way he could stop now. 

Through his comm link, Danny could hear Coulson calling his name. Danny hadn't expected that his diversion would hold for long—his boss wasn't dumb and Stark's search algorithms were too accurate—but all he needed was just a little more time. Around the corner, feet skidding on rain-slick asphalt, and then there he was. 

"Matty!" Danny yelled, and his knee hurt and his chest ached, but he made himself pull his sidearm out of his holster. "Matt, stop!"

Matt pulled the car door open before turning to look back at him. The look on his face was unnervingly blank; he had a firm grasp on the briefcase. "You going to shoot me?"

"Am I going to, am I—" Danny scrubbed at his hair with his free hand; he hadn't slept in going on three days, and beneath the shudder of adrenaline through his system, he could sense the beginnings of one hell of a headache. Coulson was still talking in his ear, but Danny couldn't pay attention right now. "You stupid son-of-a-bitch, what the hell are you doing?" He could hear his voice cracking. "Look, if this is… if you owe someone money, if you're… we can work this out, okay. I know some guys, Coulson knows tonnes of guys, okay? Hell, _Fury_ knows people, I'll call some favours in if—"

And then Matt smiled, and it was the worst look Danny had ever seen on his little brother's face—because when he smiled, his eyes flared blue and glacier-cold.

*****

A field team found him inside of ten minutes, which meant that Barton and Kono had probably found him inside of five and were providing sniper cover from some nearby roof. Didn't matter much now, though. Danny sat on a curb, feeling rainwater soak through his dress pants, and watched dispassionately as the agents started to process the scene. 

"Agent Williams."

Danny sighed and closed his eyes. "Sir. You'll have my resignation on your desk in the morning. I apologise for—"

"Agent Williams," Coulson said again, tone amiable. "Shut up."

Danny cracked open one eye and looked up to see Coulson standing there, suit impeccable despite the late hour and the terrible weather, his expression unreadable. He had a StarkPad in one hand; in the other, he was holding a brown paper bag that smelled suspiciously like General Tso's chicken. "Sir?"

"Come with me," Coulson said, and nodded in the direction of a nearby car, one so nondescript it had to be S.H.I.E.L.D. issue. 

Because Danny was punch-drunk and exhausted, because he was still trying to learn the shape of a grief that showed no signs of fading any time soon, Danny hauled himself upright and trailed after Coulson, saying, "You got someone to deliver to a business park in Cleveland at four in the morning?" before he could think the better of it. 

"We tip well," Coulson said mildly, before putting both tablet and bag down on the hood of the car. He unpacked the bag, setting out the cartons of food in neat rows and handing a pair of chopsticks to Danny. "You should eat."

The food smelled delicious, and Danny hadn't eaten in even longer than he hadn't slept, but his stomach rolled at the thoughts of actually eating anything. "Thanks," he said, "I'm good."

"Hrm," Coulson said, before opening one of the cartons. He leaned against the hood of the car and watched the agents finish up processing the scene while he worked his way through some fried rice. 

Coulson said nothing, seemingly content to eat in companionable silence, and Danny had been through all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'S training programmes on interrogation techniques, passed them all with flying colours, and it still took him all of ten minutes to sigh, fold his arms, and say, "Hey, the weird psychological stuff is Fury's forte, okay? How about you just ask me what you want to know, boss?"

Coulson held one of the cartons out to him. Danny's stomach, traitorous, let out a plaintive gurgle. He sighed, tugged off his gloves, took the food from Coulson and started to eat. The chicken was actually pretty good, and the sensation of having something hot in his belly for the first time in days distracted him—meant that Danny had his mouth full when Coulson said, "I spoke with Attaché Edwards an hour ago."

He held out a napkin when Danny choked. 

"Rachel?" Danny said, spluttering. "Why'd you have to get her involv—"

"I'm pretty sure," Coulson said, "that Her Majesty's Diplomatic Service thinks that we got _them_ involved."

"Yeah, well," Danny said, thinking with sudden exhaustion of how this had all started four days and three states ago with an innocent visit from his kid brother. "I wasn't doing any involving, here, okay, I was on desk duty this month. This was supposed to be… routine." It was a Friday, and Fridays were days when Danny looked forward to picking Grace up from school, and hearing about her week while they walked the four blocks to the good pizza place, and trips to the library or the park on Saturday morning. It wasn't finding out that Matt had been possessed by a pissed-off Norse God. 

Coulson wiped at his mouth with a napkin. "It's odd how frequently our routine assignments tend to end up on the front page of the _New York Times_."

"Yeah, well, ask Stark," Danny said, stuffing his now-empty carton back into the paper sack. "I'm sure he could come up with some algorithm about it." 

"He already has," Coulson said softly. "How do you think we got here so quickly?"

Danny looked back to the north, where the flames that were unavoidable proof of Matt's sabotage glowed, a false dawn. "Well."

"Point," Coulson said. He paused for a moment, then said, "We will have to talk about it."

Danny winced, looking down at his hands: the scraped and bruised knuckles, the vicious line of rope burn across the inside of his left forearm. Right now, he couldn't think of anything he wanted to do less than talk about what had happened: talk about how he'd made the choice to lie to his boss, ask his friends to cover for him, because he didn't want to believe the worst of family. "Yeah," he said. "I thought we probably would."

*****

If you kept pushing at a case you should have dropped weeks ago, it turned out, you got recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D. When the two guys in suits walked into the precinct and Danny got called into the Lieu's office not five minutes later, every eye in the bullpen turned to look at him. Danny knew what they were thinking—it was Internal Affairs, come calling because he refused to sit down and shut up, come to remind him in polite words and veiled threats about his best interests. Hell, it was what Danny was thinking himself, and so he paused only to make sure that his hair was smoothed back and his tie was straight before he marched in there. Let it never be said that Daniel Williams didn't have a firm stance on the whole fight-or-flight issue. 

Of course, it turned out that the suits weren't from IA—though Danny only found this out after he got halfway through what he thought was a pretty cogent defence of separation of powers and the ethical imperative of the police detective. 

"He talks too much," said the first suit, the one who'd introduced himself as Agent Sitwell. 

"Yes," said the other suit—Coulson, Danny knew now. He'd smiled, ever so faintly. "We'll take him."

Danny thought about that first day on the transport that took him back to the helicarrier. Look where pushing had got him this time.

*****

The mood on the helicarrier's bridge was subdued, matching the view from its windows: a grey morning dawning slowly over a fall landscape. Memories of Manhattan were still too fresh for the organization to take this any way other than hard. Chin was there, reviewing some security footage and talking softly about it with Hill. Like always, Chin had forgone the tie and suit jacket of the typical S.H.I.E.L.D. agent; like always, he was quick to smile, but the fine lines around his eyes and the stubble on his jaw said that he'd had a sleepless night, too. "Welcome back, brah," he said, clapping Danny briefly on the shoulder. 

"Yeah, yeah," Danny said, not quite trusting himself to meet Chin's eyes. He bounced a little on the balls of his feet, looked around the room. On almost every screen, he saw evidence of his people working to find Matt, to find Loki—maps and spreadsheets, mug shots and scrolling news feeds: CNN, BBC, Al-Jazeera. "You want to debrief now? I think the conference room on sub-level A is free."

Chin arched an eyebrow. "Coulson already transmitted the key intel back to us. We're good for now, Danny. Full debrief can wait til the Colonel gets back."

The thoughts of having to face Fury made him flinch. All of the evidence of the last couple of days to the contrary, Danny did have some sense of self-preservation, thank you very much. Still. "You can quit it with, you know, the whole kid gloves thing," he said, gesturing. "Coulson's already been _nice_ to me about this—you think you could cut me some slack?"

"Yeah," Chin said, deadpan, "it _is_ pretty harrowing when your boss is considerate," and laughed softly when Danny flipped him the bird.

*****

Thor was pretty nice about it all, but then again, Thor was pretty nice about most things—and hey, Danny figured, Thor could probably write a book when it came to dealing with misguided younger brothers. He brought Danny a roast beef sandwich for lunch, and coffee in a mug so large that Danny was pretty sure it technically qualified as a flagon. "My brother's ways are often inscrutable, Daniel, but do not worry—we shall outwit him yet. My Jane is at work on the problem as we speak. And besides, in the aftermath of battle," he said, slapping Danny on the back hard enough to make him stumble, "a warrior may find as much solace as celebration at the feasting table." 

Which, you know, was pretty much Danny's Ma's attitude toward brisket, so there was probably some sort of universal wisdom at work here.

*****

Fury did indeed live up to his name. Danny hadn't faced an interrogation that thorough or terrifying since he'd met Rachel's nana at their engagement party. 

It was two in the afternoon, but no amount of sunlight or caffeine could mask the fact the adrenaline was leaching from Danny's system. He repressed a yawn—and any attempt at a snappy comeback when he passed Agent Romanov in the hallway and she arched a quizzical eyebrow at him; he'd relived that engagement party enough for one day—and threaded his way through the helicarrier's hallways to the crew quarters. Here the lights were always turned down low, and in the dim environment it took him a moment to notice the tall, dark figure standing beside the door of his quarters. 

"Hey, Danno," Steve said, like it was nothing out of the ordinary for him to be standing there, hands in his pockets, waiting silently. He was still wearing his field uniform—black head-to-toe. When he got his quarters unlocked and flicked on the light, Danny could see that there were still traces of camo paint around Steve's hairline where a hasty scrub with a washcloth hadn't sufficed. 

"'Hey, Danno', he says," Danny said, grumbling for form's sake. The back of his neck felt hot. Steve was standing there in the middle of Danny's tiny bedroom, unmoving, as if he had nowhere else to be; like Danny hadn't just heard Fury and Cap discussing the urgency of their next move, how they needed all hands on deck. Danny pulled off his suit jacket and tossed it into the corner—it was ruined anyway, no point in trying to salvage it—before turning and squinting up at Steve. "Aren't you supposed to be on assignment in Afghanistan right now?"

Steve shrugged. "Information about my movements is divulged to—"

"—To agents with clearance above a Level 6 on a need-to-know basis only," Danny finished for him, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I got it, I don't need you to rub it in that—"

"Phil called me," Steve interrupted, and how was it that only five weeks apart had been enough to blunt Danny's memory of how inexorable Steve could be—how relentless when one of his own was hurting. Steve shifted his weight from foot to foot, and sighed. Something in face shifted so that Danny wasn't looking at a stoic S.H.I.E.L.D. agent anymore: just his goof of a boyfriend, whose heart was always bigger than he even seemed to realise himself. 

"That's Agent Coulson to you," Danny mumbled, but clearly he wasn't going to distract Steve with discussion of his boss. Deflection was useless when it came to Hurricane McGarrett, and Steve's arms came up around him, wrapping him in a solid, steady hug. Steve smelled of gun oil and stale sweat and long hours cooped up on an airplane, breathing recycled air, and Danny buried his face against Steve's shoulder, held on as tight as he could. When Danny finally closed his tired eyes, they stung. 

"We'll get him back, Danno," Steve said. One big hand came up to cradle the back of Danny's head, fingers carding through his hair. "We're all in this with you, okay?"

Danny breathed in slowly, then unsteadily out. "I never wanted to be wrong so bad in my whole life, Steven. I never… Christ, what am I going to tell my parents, huh? What am I going to tell Grace?"

"You'll figure something out," Steve said. "Come on, you were in a Catch-22 and you still did what you had to do. Matt's your brother; your folks know you wouldn't let him down, okay?"

"I lost him," Danny said, and this was a brand-new kind of grief he was dealing with, here: the kind that promised to stretch out and out because there was no finality to his loss. Matt was still out there, somewhere, and Danny had no idea what was happening to him. 

"We'll get him back," Steve said again, his voice a low murmur in Danny's ear, the sweep of his hand up and down Danny's back a steady comfort. 

Danny's breathing hiccupped on a laugh. "Confidence has never been a problem for you, has it?"

"Hey!" Steve said, "Hey." He pulled back just enough that Danny could see the furrow between his eyebrows, the set of his jaw, before cupping Danny's face in his hands and kissing him. The kiss was long and slow and fierce, scraping Steve's stubble against Danny and making Danny pant against his mouth. He wrapped his arms around Steve's waist and kissed him back as best he could, felt some wild, desperate thing inside him quiet—because hey, here was one thing he could count on for sure. 

"Oh," Danny said when the kiss ended. He felt a little vague, and from the way his breath was coming just a bit faster, he was pretty sure it wasn't just from the sleep deprivation. "Confidence, I get it."

"Exactly," Steve said, grinning. "Now come on, you need some sleep before we head back out." He steered Danny in the direction of the cot, and pushed gently until Danny fell back against the mattress. 

Forget every complaint Danny had made about this bed before now: after so long without sleep, it felt like heaven. He yawned, scrubbed at his face with his hands while Steve tugged his shoes off and pulled the blanket up over him. "We'll get him back, right?" he said, curling up on his side and closing his eyes.

"Yeah, Danno, of course," Steve said, and the warm weight of his hand on Danny's arm felt like a promise.


End file.
